by Renée Jaggér
They were about to find out.
Trolls, three dozen or more, burst out of the tree line of the forest and onto the plain, kicking up snow in alabaster showers that glinted in the bright light. They roared like bears, and they looked more similar to bears than to any other creature Bailey knew of, though the resemblance was not perfect. They were humanoid and had tusks protruding from their lower jaws like those of boars.
Many wielded clubs that were little more than small uprooted trees. Others had crude axes or spears with stone heads. A few, probably commanders or chieftains or champions, had primitive rough-forged weapons of iron, mainly swords or hammers. Most wore armor of bone, tree bark, or shoddy leather.
Fenris barked, “Get them!” and bolted toward the advancing horde. There were now another two dozen behind the first wave, and possibly more still hidden by the trees.
Bailey didn’t hesitate. She forgot her suspicions of her teacher once combat was upon them; nothing welded a bond between sentient beings faster than the camaraderie of shared danger. She charged.
Ten yards ahead of her, Fenris roared and transformed. His coat fell away in tatters as he shifted into a wolf-like monstrosity as tall as a two-story house. She’d seen him in this form only once before when he’d revealed his true identity to her and a rebellious group of the Eastmoor Pack’s young bucks.
Then the first of the trolls crashed into him and came within blasting distance of Bailey, and there was no more time for memories. Only battle.
The girl sent a sonic-concussive shockwave across the ground, kicking up thick sheets of snow to obscure the trolls’ vision. That halted or slowed most of the front line, and she followed it up with a forked bolt of lightning that drew extra conductivity from the melted snow and the trolls reeled, hurt but not dead. She’d hoped it would have done more damage, but Fenris had warned her that the creatures resisted magic.
The wolf-father had stomped down on two of them and taken a third in his enormous jaws, whipping it around before biting it in half. The bloody pieces fell to the whitened ground as more of the beasts swarmed him, hooting and swinging their primitive weapons.
Bailey turned to face the first of those who’d gotten past her magical assault. She conjured a long plasma blade from her fist and smashed it into them, knowing she’d have to rely on her strength as a lycanthrope as much if not more than her magic as a werewitch and a goddess.
But she was a fighter long before she could cast spells. Her crackling arcane blade pierced the throat and skull of the first troll, dropping it where it stood, then everything became chaos around her.
The last of the trolls fell dead, the impact of its heavy body kicking up clouds of pinkish-red snow around it. With its collapse, silence set in across the plain.
Fenris watched as Bailey stood and glanced around, her eyes wide and lungs heaving. It took her a moment to realize the battle was over. They’d destroyed the first wave.
“We did it,” she said. “Damn.”
He, back in humanoid form and having reconjured his coat around him, put a hand on her shoulder. “We did. But there will be more, and soon. Perhaps in an hour, perhaps a day. Rest now. I will make a fire and hunt meat to sustain us. Wait here.”
The two of them quickly gathered wood fragments from splintered trees and broken weapons, then used them to ignite a good-sized blaze. Bailey huddled next to it, the cold of the realm getting to her since her blood no longer pumped with the exertion of combat.
Fenris supposed she knew that, as a goddess, she could easily regulate her body temperature, but her human side seemed to prefer the traditional comforts of a fire and a heavy coat or blanket. He left her there to rest as he bounded off into the forest.
Soon enough, he found an elk the size of a large human vehicle like an SUV and pounced on it in his wolf form. His powerful jaws crushed its neck before it could flee. It was a simple matter to gut and clean the carcass and drag it back to the campfire.
Bailey looked up at him with an eager expression. “Nice,” she quipped. “Not sure I ever had elk before. That one’s massive, but I’m hungry enough to eat half of it.”
They set chunks of meat to roast on a big spit. Fenris tore some of the meat off the carcass to eat while it was still mostly raw, as he preferred. Bailey made no criticism.
“Bailey,” he began, “it will take a while to cook meat, and someone needs to remain on guard here. I want you to stay by this fire while I scout ahead to learn how many more of the trolls are nearby and what their next movements might be.”
She frowned. “That sounds dangerous. For both of us, I mean.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but there is no other way since we don’t have reliable allies we can call upon. And since I know this place, I can return to your side instantly if I must.”
Still the girl grimaced, though Fenris could not be certain if it was out of concern, or...something else.
He left her by the cookfire, shifted again into his giant lupine form, and bounded across the plain and through the woods, clearing huge distances at tremendous speed. In moments, Bailey was far out of sight or earshot.
The frost trolls were easy to smell. Near the far end of the forest, he sensed a large gathering of them, as he’d expected. His massive furry body plunged ahead, and his senses were sharp enough that he easily avoided crashing into any of the trees.
He came to the edge of a clearing filled with stumps, icy rocks, and burnt-out shells of pines. The space was elbow to elbow with trolls, which amounted to only fifty or sixty, given how much room they each took up. They did not notice him.
At the center of the throng was a raised mound of earth on which rested a great chair or throne carved from solid ice. In it sat the largest and yet most human-like of all the trolls, and on his head, he wore a crown of sharpened stone and bones held together by a ring of ice. He rested a huge warhammer made of the same materials, though reinforced with iron, on his shoulder.
It was the king of the frost trolls who first noticed Fenris.
He gave a snorting grunt. “What are you doing here?” he rasped in his guttural language. Most of his hair was white, but he had a long, dark beard in which icicles had formed.
As he spoke, the other trolls turned around and faced the wolf-god, who’d shifted back into the shape of a tall, hooded man.
“Good day,” Fenris greeted them. “You know me already. I’ve spoken to you, but not as Fenris. It was I, in the guise of the creature you called Skarlang, who prompted you to attack the borders of Asgard. I am your ally and confidant.”
Rumbles of surprise or apprehension went around the creatures. The king waved for them to be silent.
He asked, “How do we know you speak the truth?
Fenris shifted into the likeness of Skarlang, an entity he had invented who would look like an abused and pitiful frost troll, supposedly taken as a slave by the gods, so as to gain the trolls’ sympathy. Then he shifted back.
The creatures started chattering again, suitably impressed. They were not smart enough to consider that some other being might have aped the same disguise, though that was not the case. Fenris had been Skarlang all along.
The wolf-father spread his arms. “You see,” he proclaimed, “the time has come to start Ragnarӧk. The gods are weak and confused, and the legitimacy of their reign is much disputed. We must attack them, weaken them, and finally overthrow them. Such is my goal.”
Confused and excited growls came from the crowd, and heavy brows furrowed.
“But,” Fenris added, “you, and other peoples who have been left in the dust by the lords of Asgard, are to rise up under your own banners, not mine. I do not mean to take command of your people, nor rule instead of your king. I seek only to give us a common goal on which to focus.”
The king demanded, “What goal, Fenris-Skarlang?”
The wolf-father paused for effect before speaking. “To destroy the gods utterly, and along with them, the sycophantic worlds they patronize and use
for their support. Our kind shall reign from here henceforth. The lowly shall rise above the high, and Asgard shall never have dominion again.”
Stunned silence greeted him at first. Then their king stood up, hoisted his hammer in the air, and bellowed a triumphant war-cry of enthusiastic longing. His followers joined him, roaring and waving their thick arms, pounding the ground and the trees. Their eyes shone with hubris and bloodlust.
“Yes!” the king shouted. “I will unleash every horde under my command. We will crash into Asgard’s barrier, wave after wave, until it shatters before us!”
Fenris held up a hand. “Not yet, my good king. That would bring the full wrath of the gods down on you before you could breach the divine realm. It would be wiser to keep attacking in safe, limited numbers, enough to distract the deities. Meanwhile, I will weaken them until the final end can be brought about. Once Ragnarӧk begins, you may attack in full force, overwhelming Asgard and wiping it out of existence.”
Again, the trolls cheered. Fenris came over to grasp arms with their king, sealing the bond of agreement.
Before he took his leave, the wolf-father added, “One more thing. You will see me again, and soon. No matter what the circumstances, do not speak of what we’ve just discussed.”
Chapter Five
Bailey determined that the meat was done, at least well enough. She used magic to turn a piece of stone into a serviceable knife, then carved off a nice big slice. She left the rest still suspended over the fire so that the inner portions would continue to cook.
She was about halfway through her second piece when Fenris emerged from the woods.
“You’re alive,” she called. “That’s usually a good sign.”
He approached with an unhurried gait. “Indeed. And it looks like you’ve begun your meal. I will join you.”
The wolf-god pulled some of the inner meat from the elk’s thigh. As he sat down beside her, the girl burned with curiosity as to what he’d found on his scouting trip and what the implications would be for them, but she held her tongue, not wanting to seem scared or eager.
Fenris consumed the meat and waited until after he’d licked the juices from his fingers before he began.
“I found their encampment. Another force is amassing—larger than the first, but manageable. They were making preparations to attack, but not yet marching. I’d estimate that they’ll strike soon. Eat, and rest as long as you can. We will need our strength.”
That sounded good to Bailey. She had two more big slices of elk meat before she decided she was full, then she stretched and lay back in the snow before the warm fire.
“Fenris,” she asked, “will this second wave be the last of them? At least for now?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I cannot say. I saw no signs of more of them, so if we defeat this group, it should buy us time.”
They sat in silence for what felt like another half hour, then both of them sat up straight in unison, their ears perking up to the sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps.
Fenris sprang to his feet and waved a clawed hand. “They’re coming. Make ready!”
The girl stood beside him, flexing and shifting mental gears toward the kind of instinctual and aggressive thinking required to survive and prevail in a life or death struggle.
Fenris shifted once more into his gigantic wolf-monster form, towering over the snowy plain. Bailey had to admit she felt safer and more confident with him by her side. For a second, she hated herself for doubting him.
The trees shook as dozens of frost trolls streamed out of the shadows between the trunks, roaring and swinging their heavy limbs and crude but deadly weapons in swipes and circles.
As Fenris moved to the left, frantically crushing and maiming all before him, Bailey took a deep breath and turned to the right half of the invading force. She flung her arms out and unleashed a tidal wave of offensive magic, near the limit of what she was capable of.
Like the shockwave from a nuclear bomb, the storm of magical energy blasted out to engulf the trolls’ vanguard. The dozen or so in front died instantly, their bodies collapsing into piles of ash and cinders. The ones behind them survived, but they were wounded and disoriented.
Before Bailey could finish them off, others charged out from around or behind them, seeking to flatten her or tear her limb from limb.
There wasn’t time for another all-out arcane assault. She’d have to fight them at close range.
Using telekinesis, the werewitch stole the weapons from her attackers at a distance, summoning a stone axe and crude iron sword into her hands. When she caught them, she realized how massive they were; the handles were nearly too big for her to wrap her fingers around, and they weighed far more than mortal weapons would.
But Bailey was stronger than ever as a deity, and she whipped them around with little effort. She enchanted the rough blades with a mixture of fire and arcane plasma, adding to their damage potential and intimidation factor, then plunged into the trolls’ ranks.
A fast swipe of the flaming axe chopped off the arm of the first one to reach her, and she was already bounding over it and through it, the sword slicing through its neck and shoulder area, its body toppling behind her.
She crossed weapons with the next two. The impact of their swings was incredible, but she’d expected as much and surrounded her arms with an aura of kinetic force. The trolls’ clubs shuddered to a halt in midair. Stunned, they could not react in time as Bailey charged between them, slashing the midsections of each as she passed.
A melee followed, during which the girl took multiple stunning, bruising blows and shallow cuts and scratches, but nothing serious, meanwhile dropping eight more of the brutes. She reached an open area, having destroyed the immediate group and penetrated into the no-man’s-land between the creatures’ ranks. The ones across the snow growled at her but were slow to attack.
Rather than meet them head-on since they were close to the edge of the forest, Bailey thought of something else. She extended her sword hand and channeled the full brunt of her telekinetic ability, uprooting a mass of trees and hurling them into the group of frost trolls.
The beasts howled in alarm as the heavy trunks fell on them, crushing their thick skulls and spines, or rolled into their legs and sent them sprawling. Bailey roared and rushed them, easily finishing off the survivors as she nimbly jumped from tumbling log to tumbling log.
Another cluster emerged from the woods that she’d ravaged. She leapt high in the air, both weapons raised over her head, and came down on a particularly large troll in front who froze and tried to block her with his spear. The enchanted blades passed through the wood and carved the creature into three pieces.
Then the others piled in, surrounding her with a tornado of anger and violence.
She withstood it. Using a mixture of magic and conventional combat, she whittled down their numbers with injuries or death blows until she stood alone on the bloody snow and the last of them ran for the safety of the forest.
Bailey launched herself after him, flying horizontally like a missile, and crashed into the troll’s haunches. He tumbled aside and crashed into a tree. The girl came to a stop beside him and raised her axe.
For an instant, she caught a glimpse of his face; it looked almost human and was strained with pain and terror, oddly pitiful. She was still operating on the rush of battle, but part of her didn’t want to finish him off like this.
“Hold!” Fenris barked. Having vanquished the rest of the trolls, he had shifted back into his humanoid form. “Allow him to surrender. We might be able to use him.”
The girl’s hand trembled as she fought down the mindless, aggressive bloodlust that still raged from the long fight. In seconds, breathing deep and forcing a normal state of consciousness to return to her mind, she had herself back under control.
“Okay,” she said. “What do we do with him, though?”
Fenris walked over and peered into the troll’s big, brutish face. “Do you surrender? And
what will you do for us if we let you live?”
The creature gurgled, then its voice rumbled up in halting gasps. “I will…take you…to our king.” He shut his eyes, then opened them again. “We can…talk about…surrendering.”
The wolf-father leaned back. “Good. Let us go now. Stand up!”
Groaning, the troll struggled to regain his feet, and Bailey helped him. She’d badly damaged some of the muscles in his back when she’d smashed into him. He hobbled into the woods, with Fenris and Bailey close behind.
The girl leaned over to her mentor as the darkness of the forest closed over their heads. “Could he be leading us into a trap?”
“Possibly,” Fenris conceded, “but I doubt it.”
She had her doubts but decided to trust the god’s judgment. The two of them had, after all, defeated more than a hundred of the beasts by themselves.
The trek through the trees took longer than Bailey would have liked, but it was less than an hour before they approached a clearing where the girl could make out many dark silhouettes standing around, as well as the sun glinting off a large object that seemed to be made of ice.
Fenris raised a hand. “This must be it. Yes, I came to the edge of this place earlier. Let me do the talking, Bailey.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
The girl hung back while Fenris put a hand on the captured troll’s neck and guided him into the clearing, where two or three dozen more of their species milled around a throne of ice, on which the biggest troll Bailey had seen lounged. He wore a strange, primitive crown and carried a great hammer. He was obviously their king.
Bailey wondered how many of his personal retinue had participated in the last assault, and how many trolls there might be.
The monsters roiled in their surprise, though a few simply stared dumbly at Fenris before they reacted. The king glared at him.
“Hail,” Fenris began, “King of the frost trolls. We have defeated your warriors and brought this one back to negotiate your surrender, as per the ancient laws of your people.”
